Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural
by Spindle Rage
Summary: When Dean gets sick, Sam drags him to the clinic where a world renowned doctor by the name of House currently attends. HouseSupernatural Crossover. Updated!
1. Chapter 1

**Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural**

**Part I**

"No frickin' way. I'm not going."

Dean Winchester's pasty white face glowered above the sheet tucked close to his chin.

Sam Winchester threw his older brother a very exasperated glare.

"Let me get this straight, Dean. You would rather fight an axe happy phantom than visit the very non hostile hospital."

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"_No_."

"Then, hell yes. I would actually prefer facing the awesome danger of a bloody axe."

Sam looked down on his pale faced brother and shook his head firmly.

"Funny. But, I'm done arguing, Dean. I'm dragging your smartass to the clinic if I have to chain you up to the back of the Impala."

Dean grinned. "Sounds kinky."

Sam dragged the bed sheets away from Dean in answer.

"C'mon, Sammy! It's just a freaking cold! It's not like I have pneumonia," Dean exclaimed.

"You're not invincible, Dean. You need to see a doctor."

"For what? The sniffles?"

Sam pocketed the keys to the Impala and hoisted his brother up on his feet.

"Just the sniffles? Have you looked in the mirror? Or haven't you noticed that every time you belittle your symptoms, the hotter your body gets?"

"Well, that's because I just get that more attractive!"

"Dean . . ."

Sam ogled his big brother with his most lethal wounded puppy dog expression since he dented the Impala.

Dean practically recoiled from the adorable horror. But alas, it was much too late.

His hand unconsciously reached to ruffle his baby brother's hair with affection and he sighed in defeat.

"All right, all right. I'll go."

Sam smiled in relief.

Dean grunted as Sam led the way outside.

Dean had to admit that he was grateful for the support as his whole body ached and trembled.

Maybe it won't be so bad, he reasoned. Maybe he'll get a real of a doctor.

A doctor, who will just happen to be single, female and much underappreciated.

And of course, hot for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural**

**Part II**

Dean slouched in a plastic char in the waiting area for the clinic with his forehead glistening like a just washed car. Every time he felt the tickle of a pathetic sniffle in his nose he quickly titled his head up and stretched, which caused quite the pleasant stir from the young women in presence.

Dean winked at one petite dark haired chick who had leaned in his direction. She smiled back flirtatiously with a bloody split lip and white tissue pieces stuck to it.

"Okey dokey," he murmured, forcing the smile not to drop from his face.

The clinic was packed with other folk with various ailments. All of them seemed to have been waiting since the last turn of the century.

_Behold the state of American Healthcare_, Dean thought depressed.

Beside him, Sam flipped through an old issue of Vogue magazine for the tenth time. Dean could not fathom how he had managed to plow through it the first time. His brother's chick-a-tude was definitely becoming a cause for concern.

"Sam–"

"We're not leaving till a doctor sees you, Dean," Sam said, interrupting the beginning plea from his big brother.

Dean groaned in return. "Your call. Just don't complain if we're both going through mid-life crisis before I get a freaking check-up."

Unfortunately, Sam's brow set in the Winchester "unmovable visage of stubbornness" inherited from their old man.

_My butt isn't going nowhere soon_, Dean concluded dejected.

He was moving his gave on to the hot nurse at the check in desk when a smartly dressed petite woman and a casual dressed doctor with a cane bustled into the waiting area.

"Frankly I'm amazed that you are doing your clinic hours without a tantrum. In fact, I'm starting to get downright suspicious, House," the woman said.

House turned to her with a face of mock innocence. "Cuddy. _Dear_ Cuddy. Is it not my duty to help these poor unfortunate souls?"

He gestured with his cane to the dark haired girl that Dean had winked at earlier.

"I took my hippocratic oath _just_ to help idiots who play tongue hockey with their Daddy's power tools for fun."

Dean felt quite angry that the guy who turned out to be a doctor had insulted the injured but very adorable chick.

Unfortunately, it still didn't stop the soft chuckle that crept past his lips.

Cuddy's mouth also tweaked upward but only a wee slight. "I don't know what you're trying to weasel out of today. But I'll settle for being glad you'll see to some of these patients. We're severely understaffed today."

House smiled, knowingly. "I thought you looked tired. Don't worry, I'll break my record today for sure. I might just see two patients for more than an hour."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow and definitely smiled this time. "Just try not to trigger any potential lawsuits today."

"Aye, aye, captain," House said, with mock salute.

Dean watched her walk away with approval. _Very nice legs_, he thought.

House looked around the waiting room like a vulture ready to pounce on roadkill.

_Please don't let the sarcastic bastard pick me_, Dean thought desperately. Unfortunately, Dean's prayer went unheard as usual.

House appeared to be a mind reader as his piercing blue eyes tracked to the direction of Sam and Dean.

"Okay, I feel like sticking my rubber gloved hand up someone's ass," he said, loud and clear.

Dean shot up but Sam grabbed his sleeve before he could run.

"Oh, goodie. We have a volunteer. Step on up, to House's House of Ass Torture!" House said, grinning like a circus ringleader.

"Sam, there is nothing wrong with my ass! Nothing is allowed to touch that hole but female anatomy!" Dean hissed.

Sam dragged him. "He's joking."

Dean looked at the other guys in the waiting room. There were _no_ other guys left in the waiting room.

"Oh, god," Dean cried.

House heard Dean's plaintive cry and rolled his eyes. "Whoa there, _Butch_. I'm not actually looking forward to any nether region searching."

House leaned over to Sam and whispered in a conspiratory fashion. "He really overcompensates, doesn't he?"

Dean scowled at the doctor. Sam was sure that curses were being uttered under his breath.

"Can you help my brother?" Sam said, clearly not in joking manner.

House stared at him for a moment. "I think the more appropriate term is _brothers_."

"Excuse me?"

House opened the door to an examination room. "You heard me. I'm checking you out too, Emo Hair."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Sam stated, flatly.

"Other than your hair you mean? No, there definitely is."

Sam and Dean stared at House's back as he limped into the room.

Dean looked over to his younger brother with a grin. "Want me to hold your hand?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Thanks so much for the reviews! 

I hope House's intro is okay. If not, you won't have to suffer with my bad writing too long, lol. It's not gonna be a very long fic. Maybe a chapter or two more.

Part III is gonna be up Thursday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural**

**Part III**

Two pairs of bright and scared eyes were fixated on the sight of rubber gloves slowly pulled on by their "attending" doctor.

House squinted at the two brothers who looked back at him with "deer in the headlights" expressions.

_Some people make it too easy_, he thought wickedly.

"Okay, kiddo. Assume the position."

"Uh, you mean Sam, right?" Dean asked, hopefully.

"What?! Shouldn't you be checking our temperature or our pulse?" Sam exclaimed.

"Sorry, do you have an M.D. in your back pocket? It is in my professional opinion that an infection may be stemming from the _special_ places."

For embarrassingly dramatic effect, House poked his cane below Sam's waistline.

"Hey!"

Sam never felt the urge to shoot innocent people. However, this man was gonna become the first exception.

"Anyway, I meant for _older_ brother here to drop his pants," House continued, nodding in Dean's direction.

_Oh, man_, Dean groaned inwardly. Sam was trying not to appear too relieved but was miserably failing from his perspective.

Dean unbuckled his pants and bent over quickly to get the whole thing over with.

This sadly resulted in Sam closing his eyes much too late and lead to him silently praying the whole situation would not scar him for life.

"Huh," House said.

Dean grinned to himself. "I know. It's a fine-sculpted piece of anatomy you're looking in."

House didn't answer as he was actually looking at his watch with a wrinkled brow. _Must waste more time_, he concluded.

"Don't damage the cheeks, man," Dean warned.

"I assume modesty is not in your limited vocabulary, is it?"

"Just like 'sugar, spice and all that's nice' isn't in your forte, old man."

"Oh, a smartass. And I seeing as I'm looking at your ass, I meant it metaphorically speaking."

"Hey, the longer you keep me bent over the more of my snot gonna be decorating your sanitized floor."

"Well, time to explore then."

Dean shut his eyes tight and gritted his teeth anticipating the invading appendages in his butt.

Instead, a sharp puncture like someone sticking a ball point pen in his left butt cheek caused him to squeal like a pig on the loose.

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam snapped his eyes open and watched as House stuck a nice big needle in Dean's ass and injected some kind of drug.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

House pulled the needle out with a bored expression causing Dean to cry out again.

"Doing? I'm a doctor. I'm holding a needle. I would _guess_ I'm doing my job. There's a first time for everything, after all."

Dean winced as he pulled his pants back on. "Oh, I know what you're doing and it ain't medical. It's freaking torture. And I'm not having it, Doctor McSnarky."

House feigned mock surprise. "Oh, you got me. Mr. _Peterson_."

Dean arched an eyebrow. The way he said their alias made it seem like he was on to their forged health insurance. _Not good._

Dean laughed in similar mocking fashion. "How about you give me a prescription and a lollipop or two and my brother and I will roll out with our bodies unviolated? Sound peachy?"

"Dean!"

"What? I love me some lollipops," Dean said, wiping his sniffing nose.

"What wrong's with my brother?" Sam asked, exasperated.

House took a deep breath and leaned on his cane heavily. "All right. I'll give it to you straight."

Sam gripped his brother's shoulder in worried anticipation. Dean swallowed, which made his already sore throat tingle.

"You have . . .Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

Dean turned pale. "I have cancer?"

"Dean, that is not cancer! It's that stupid word from that Mary Poppins movie," Sam said, giving House the old Evil Eye.

"Mary Poppins? What's that an old British porn flick?"

"Good lord. You're Disney retarded," House said, shocked.

"I am not. I've seen that busty Native American chick's story. You know the one where Mel Gibson voiced her blonde pimp," Dean retorted.

"Right. Look at the time! Gotta go catch some lunch," House announced.

"My brother—" Sam started.

"Your brother is less of a dumbass than you are. It's the _flu_. I gave him a shot. Inject him with copious amounts of orange juice and gruel and he'll be back to normal in a few days."

"Hear that Sammy! I'm not dying," Dean said, happily. Then the reality of the situation donned on him more negatively.

"The flu? Man, I'll be in bed for days. No chicks, no pool hustling, no . . ." Dean mumbled, sadly to himself.

"What about me? You said there might be something wrong," Sam persisted.

House shrugged as he walked to the door. "I'll be back. If you can't wait, you're more than welcome to tag along. It's on the house. Or more specifically on my buddy."

Dean perked up. "Free meal? Dude, we are _so_ there."

"Dean, you're not well enough. We're going back to the motel," Sam argued.

House turned around and poked Sam with the cane again. "Don't even start Emo posturing. We'll get him a wheelchair. His sinuses should be clearing up for at least an hour from the medicine and his fever has gone down."

As House was tripping down a nurse to get a wheelchair, Sam turned to his brother far from happy.

"I think we should get a second opinion."

"Why? I'm already feeling slightly better."

"I hate that guy."

Dean chuckled at the expression on Sam's face. It's an expression usually addressed to him when he's driving his brother crazy.

"Yeah, but he's sharp, Sammy. He's already wise to our healthcare fraud. And he said something is wrong with you. If the bastard hasn't been fired already then he's gotta be their best."

Sam's shoulders dropped in defeat. "So, we're going to lunch?"

"Yep. God, I hope they have pie."

* * *

First a big THANK YOU for all the kind and encouraging reviews! 

I hope none of the characters got OOC in this chapter, lol. My writing is mediocre but I strive to get better.

So, next chapter will bring Dr. James Wilson into the story. Part IV will probably be posted sometime this weekend.

And you know what? I forgot to add a disclaimer to my fic! So here it goes:

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own House, MD or Supernatural. I also solemnly swear that I did not sleep with my Supernatural Season Two DVD set last night. Any allegations against me for fondling is completely unfounded.


	4. Chapter 4

**Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural**

**Part IV**

Dr. James Wilson was currently in a state of euphoria. Not because the pretty nurse he had earlier flirted with had dropped her number but because he had put his long delayed plan into action. Or a better term would be that he had begun his _battle_ strategy.

Wilson gripped the plastic spork in his hand defensively as he glanced over the busy cafeteria. This time he would have a decent lunch. This time House wouldn't get to lay a tongue on his deli sandwich.

This time, he had prepared _two_ lunches.

Wilson swelled with self pleasure as he sipped from his diet Coke. He was relishing the vanquish of House's stinky fingers when his best friend appeared practically out of nowhere.

_Speak of the devil_, Wilson thought, warily

"Hey, Mr. Wilson! Got room for three lunch mates today?"

Three?! Wilson looked behind House to see two remarkably handsome guys trailing behind. One was pushing the other guy in a wheelchair.

House plopped into a seat beside him. He used his cane to shove a plastic chair out of the way for the wheelchair bound guy.

Wilson tried to tune out the sudden swearing from the orderly who had been hit promptly in the shins by the offending chair.

"Are these relatives?" Wilson asked, rather amazed.

"Nope. Patients. Cuddy's got me doing extra clinic hours. So, I decided to drag my work along with me."

Wilson blinked. "You're treating patients to lunch?"

House's fingers wasted no time in grasping one of Wilson's deli sandwiches. Wilson's stomach began to grumble at the sight but he reminded it that he had _tw_o lunches.

"Of course, not. You are. This is Sam and Dean. They're two angtsy and good looking brothers. I'm sure you'll all get along terrific," House said, through a mouthful of smoked turkey.

Dean wiggled his fingers in welcome which then crawled subtly past Wilson's eye to grab his second unwrapped sandwich.

"Hi," Sam said, his attention focused on his brother.

Wilson's jaw dropped as he realized what all this might mean.

"House? Are you caring extraneously? Oh my god. I've got to get my cell out and capture this Kodak moment," Wilson exclaimed, searching his pocket.

"Ha ha. You're a bucket of giggles, Jimmy. I am _not_ caring. I'm punishing," House said, dryly.

"I don't know about that. He did hold my hand earlier," Sam interjected.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "This might be even cause for creating a Youtube video. House holding hands? "

House looked at Sam like he was crazy. "I did not!"

Sam was suddenly elated at getting to tease the doctor. "Did, too."

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Hey, take it down a notch! My head is starting to pound not to mention you've both regressed to the lamest preschool game that existed," Dean interrupted, swallowing.

House pouted. "Ah, _Dad_. We were having so much fun!"

"Where's my other sandwich?" Wilson wondered aloud, his eyes following a trail of bread crumbs.

Dean thought it best to distract him from the sad truth. "So, you two are best buds or something?"

Wilson sighed. "Yes. I find it hard to believe sometimes myself."

Sam was eying House angrily. "How'd that happen?"

"We kind of just ran into each other. And we've been reasonably good companions since," Wilson said.

"Oh, James you made that sound so _poetic_ like. Ran into each other? Hah! He's being much too kind. I blackmailed him. But that's Wilson. Ridiculously kind to the less beautiful," House said, gulping down Wilson's sandwich.

"Gosh, that was such a riveting tale of friendship," Dean said, draining Wilson's diet Coke.

"I'm sure you two have just as fascinating history if I cared to know," House said.

"There's no story. We're two brothers on a road trip, dude," Dean said, wiping his mouth with a napkin then using it on his nose.

"Right. _Lame_. Here's an idea! I'll make it up. Let's take a stab at Sammy here," House said, getting excited.

"Shouldn't you be giving me a diagnosis?" Sam said, dryly.

House waved the suggestion away. "You're not dying. So, judging by the length of your emoting hair I'd gander some significant other such as a friend or boyfriend has untimely bit the dust. You also most likely have parental issues. Let's take a big guess on Daddy."

Wilson saw surprise and the unmistakable crunch of pain roll across Sam's face. _Ouch, House is on direct target in his guessing._

"Let's not make such grave assumptions, House. Obviously that was a little too far," Wilson said, looking apologetic at Sam.

"I'm _guessing_, Wilson. But, fine. If I can't pick on baby brother, I'll—"

"Okay, so who has got to pee? I gotta pee!"

Dean's outburst changed Sam from anger to flushing embarrassment at his brother's coarse announcement.

House ed his head. "Wilson. Will you take Dean here to the little boys' room?"

"He doesn't have to come. I was just joking. It's not like I need someone wiping my ass," Dean argued.

"Oh, please. Half the people here have already seen it."

"What?"

"I snapped a _very_ nice photo and forwarded it to all my colleagues. I think Dr. Fitzgerald, that randy old man, has got new wallpaper on his cell."

"WHAT?!"

"Uh, Dean. Calm down," Sam said, worriedly.

"Calm down? You're ass is not on some dude's cell phone wallpaper!"

Dr. Wilson decided it was best to remove Dean before he starting beating up a certain cripple. He grabbed the handles to Dean's wheelchair and moved him away from the table.

"Hey, I'm not done with that ! I'm—"

While Sam was freaked out by this latest development he was more worried by being alone with House.

Sam's dire puppy dog expression was not lost on House.

It made it all the more fun.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

Ah, picking on Sam and Dean. It could become a new pastime, lol.

Anyways, wow! Been awhile since I've updated, huh? Hope you liked this chapter. I should be updating with the next part soon.

And don't worry too much about Sam's "illness." It's not gonna be anything life threatening, lol.


	5. Chapter 5

**Diagnosis is Far From Supernatural**

**Part V**

Dean Winchester couldn't believe the wave of nausea sloshing up to his throat. The bit of food he just consumed wanted its way _out_ above and below. And it'd be damned if it were stopped.

Thus, he breathed a deep sigh of relief as Dr. Wilson pushed him into the restroom.

"You need me to . . .?"

"No, no. I got it, man."

Dean hefted himself out and into a stall. _Geez, I hope my flu is not regressing_.

He wiped his sweaty brow and well, got to business.

Wilson leaned against the sink as Dean relieved himself. The depression of his non lunch was taking its toll. And he wondered if he could make it to dinner without passing out on one of his cancer ridden patients.

Before he could ponder further on his woe the bathroom door slammed open.

"Cuddy?" Wilson gasped, as the dean of medicine strode in.

"Wilson, you're here. That means House is here. And I need his ass back at the clinic. _Now_."

"But you're in the men's restroom . . ." Wilson said, staring.

"Yes. And it's worse than I expected. House!" Cuddy called.

"You. In. The. Restroom," Wilson said, still staring.

"Yes, I think we established that a moment ago," Cuddy said. Her heels clicked loudly as she went to the stall door.

"House! I know you're in there!?" Cuddy shouted.

_Man, that chick sounds like she's going to kill someone even if I'm not Dr. House!_ Dean thought wildly.

Dean smashed his finger on the door lock as he tried to open it and pull his pants up at the same time. He stumbled out the stall into something wonderfully soft and smaller in frame than himself.

"You're not House. Who are you?"

Dean would have expressed apology for knocking into her but the spectacular view down into her low cut blouse had already turned his thoughts to other things.

"I hurt my finger. I'd like my booboo kissed, please?"

"Sorry, not qualified. Where's House?" Cuddy said, shortly.

"Darn. Where's Sammy when you need him?"

"If you're in cahoots with House, I swear—"

"I'm Dean. Your name?"

"You will not be excused from—"

"You know you look like a Mandy. _Hi_, Mandy."

"Any punishment."

"Punish? Whoa, slow down there Mandy. I'm not quite the masochist."

Cuddy paused as Dean looked down with a roguish grin. She turned to Wilson.

"Who is this idiot?"

"This idiot is a patient," Wilson said, restraining a smile.

"I'm a single idiot," Dean added, helpfully.

Cuddy turned back to Dean and squinted at him. "You're sweating."

She reached up and touched his forehead. "And you're burning up. Put him to bed, stat."

Wilson nodded. "I was just about to suggest that. I don't know what House was thinking letting him gallivant around."

"House is thinking what he also is thinking. How to wring a potential lawsuit out of every patient he encounters," Cuddy said.

Dean looked crestfallen. "But Mandy, we just met? No time for a quick coffee or—"

"I think you should finish pulling up your pants first," Cuddy remarked, looking down.

Dean looked down and shrugged. He turned around and Cuddy was able to catch narrow peek of the behind.

It was more than enough.

"Wait a minute. I recognize that ass. Someone sent it in a text message for wallpaper."

Dean turned around as he finished zipping up his pants. "And?"

"Nice. Maybe we'll catch that coffee later."

Dean winked as she left struggling not to smile back at him.

Wilson watched her leave with something akin to awe.

"You just got hooked up in the restroom," Wilson said, helping him back into his wheelchair.

"What can I say? I got the _touch_," Dean said.

- - - - - - - --

_Meanwhile with Sam and House_ . . .

"I bet this bag of onion and garlic potato chips that you went to one of those _good_ universities. Harvard, maybe?" House said dangling the bag before Sam's eyes.

"Close, but no cigar. I went to Stanford. And for the record, I hate chips," Sam said, pushing away the bag.

"Close enough."

"How'd you guess?"

"You're prissy. And very neat."

"Right. Like _that's_ a big clue."

"I astound myself. Moving on: As a child, you were Fat Albert."

"_What?!_"

Sam was starting to suspect this was a setup courtesy of Dean Winchester. He wouldn't be surprised if House suddenly pulled out pictures from his "chubby Sammy" days.

Assuming there were any pictures left after he had _burned_ them all.

"Okay, so maybe you didn't spend your days responding to "hey, hey, hey" but you _were_ a fat kid."

"And what were you neurotic?"

"No, homo superior. So, I notice you didn't touch any of Wilson's lunch. You're not hungry at all? Or are you the sad picture of male bulimia?"

"You tell me, _doctor_."

House raised an eyebrow as he slowly ripped open the bag of chips. He took one out carefully watching Sam's stoic expression.

"Ha!" House shouted.

Sam practically jumped out the seat.

"I heard your stomach gurgle at my chip!" House exclaimed.

"It-It did not!" Sam exclaimed.

"Well, it wasn't diarrhea," House said, as his jaw chomped loudly on chips.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not going to eat someone else's lunch. It's called common courtesy. I guess in your quest to disconnect from the human race that got dumped along the way."

"Hey, Dean partook of this feast too. No naughty mark on him?"

"My brother eats off the floor. I've had to readjust my definition of edible when it comes to him."

"Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"For the moment, you two idiots."

Sam tried to not appear nervous. "There's nothing interesting. We're just on a road trip, seeing the sights–"

"Driving each other crazy. I don't think you spent so much time together before this "trip." Significant other's death the jump start?"

_How the hell?!_ Sam thought, amazed. This guy! Man, Dad would have had a field day trying to con him over.

Before Sam could come up with a response, they were interrupted by three doctors approaching their table.

"Ah, my hell spawn cometh," House said, under his breath.

The three young doctors looked at Sam with equal expressions of confusion and curiosity.

House rolled his eyes. "This is Sam. A patient. We're waiting for his older, sicker half to finish pissing somewhere. Sam, this is my brat pack: Token Black Guy, Token Hot Female with a Brain (very sad) and Token Smelly Foreign Guy."

"Those are their names?" Sam said, blinking.

"He's joking. But, don't worry. Unless you work for him, you're not obligated to laugh," Dr. Foreman said.

"You don't really need to know their names. Unless, you're planning on having sex with one of them. Wait. You don't really need a name for that either," House noted.

"I don't smell," Dr. Chase said, wrinkling his nose.

"We've got a case," Dr. Cameron said.

"A young professor of applied mathematics is suffering from–"Foreman started.

"Oh, stop. Don't need to know more. Frankly, I'm surprised you guys needed to bring this to my attention. C'mon! This is an _easy_ one. Diagnosis: Big Nerd!" House concluded.

"His name is Charlie Epps. And he needs our help," Cameron said, squinting down at House.

"Why isn't anyone defending my body odor?" Chase said, plaintively.

"You really don't smell bad. In fact, you smell like fresh poppies or something," Sam offered.

"Really?" Chase asked.

"Yeah. What kind of cologne do you use?"

"It's an imported brand. I forget the name. Darn . . ."

"Well, I think its lupus. But Cameron's kind of got a crush on him," Foreman suggested.

"I do not have a crush on him!" Cameron exclaimed.

"Wait. Are you guys talking about _Professor_ Epps? I think I attended a lecture of his while I was visiting CalSci. He's an exciting teacher," Sam said, turning toward them.

"Math? Exciting? I'm disturbed by that imagery," Chase said, eyes wide.

House swiped his cane out between the doctors and Sam. "Children! Quiet. Your inane chatter is lowering my IQ. First, you three go do an MRI on the professor so Cameron can get her freak on. Second, Sammy and I go . . . somewhere else."

"Uh, where are you going?" Foreman asked.

"Spelunking. Sam?"

"I'd rather go check on my brother."

"Hmm, I realize how much mischief the idiot can get up to, but need I remind that you could be dying."

"You said I wasn't."

"I could be lying."

"You're a doctor."

"What? That exempts me from lying and general subterfuge. _Everybody_ lies."

Sam closed his mouth for a moment. Then the next words completely took House off guard.

"You're right. Everyone _does_ lie. Like how I know what's wrong with me. I've been keeping it from Dean."

Sam leaned forward. "But I really don't think you even have a clue."

House tapped his cane thoughtfully. "Well. I didn't consider that."

Sam crossed his arms with a smirk. "Yeah, so I'm waiting to hear your theory."

* * *

Author's Note:

Yes, that was a nice little Numb3rs mention!

And why would Sam remember some math professor's lecture he attended years ago you wonder? Because Charlie is HOT. You do not forget hotness. ;-)

And for sake of simplicity, House is still with Cameron, Chase and Foreman as his crew. None of the newbies will be showing up. Even though, I love me some Kutner!

Thank you for the reviews! More to come soon.


	6. Chapter 6

****

Diagnosis Is Far From Supernatural

Part VI

It was a stand off of the most unusual. On one side was an emo coiffed monster hunter and on the other side was a surly son of a bitch doctor. To call it epic would not do it justice. To call it oddly hot was something Dr. Lisa Cuddy felt might question her sanity. Or simply might explain the lack of an interesting sex life.

"House! What are you doing!" she snarled down at him.

"What does it look like? I'm on a date. Meet Sam. He likes long walks on the beach and gazing at beautiful bright sunsets. He's also kind of whiny. You think that might be problem?"

"Only if your level of maturity falls below mine. Which odds are it does," Sam retorted.

"Are you Sam Peterson?" Cuddy asked, ignoring House for the moment.

Sam noticed House silently guffaw at the mention of his "name," with an uneasy feeling.

"Yes, ma'am. Why? Has something happened to my brother? Is he okay? Is he"

"Whoa. Settle down, Bambi," House said, sharply poking at the younger man with his cane.

Cuddy, however, went into the patented "clingy parent" mode. She leaned down (House's eyes also went down) and touched Sam softly on the shoulder.

"It's going to be okay. Your brother's fever spiked for a moment but we were able to get it under control. I can take you to him right now," she reassured.

Sam saw House tapping his cane in major annoyance as the center of attention was currently not the jerk himself. For some reason, this greatly pleased Sam and gave him an idea. A very wicked idea.

He laughed inwardly. Time to unleash the secret weapon . Yes, with great big adorable eyes power comes great responsibility. Unfortunately, the recent long term exposure to his big lawbreaking brother had seriously eroded that responsibility.

It was using his gift for evil but sometimes you got to use it or lose it. Besides, Dean would so approve.

Sam turned on the full PUPPY DOG EYES OF DOOM upon the poor unsuspecting woman. She immediately fell into those deep eyes of woe and angst. The effect was instantaneous: ovaries imploding, heart rate quadrupling, brain scrambling, and other sad emotional malfunctions.

Before Cuddy knew it, her arms were tightened around Sam and she pressed him close to her chest and began to rock him. "There, there . . ."

House eyes bulged at the sight. "Hey, why is Silly Hair getting the boob pillow?! I'm crippled and waaay more full of woe!"

Sam looked over at House and sniffled dramatically. "You don't think Dean will die, do you?"

"Of course, not. It's going to be okay," Cuddy said, hugging him tighter.

"Oh, please. Grunge brother is not dying," House said, rolling his eyes.

"_He's_ being very whiny," Sam said, with another "sniffle."

Cuddy glared at House "Yes, he is."

"If this doesn't stop I'm going to find one of the ducklings and throw up in their mouths," House declared, loudly.

"Wait. Don't you mean throw up in your own mouth?" Sam asked, confused.

"Nooo. Why would I do that? That's gross."

Cuddy pulled away from Sam with a sigh. "Let's go visit your brother."

House rose out of his chair. "Yes. Let's go see the other idiot. Maybe you can get Cuddy to service him some oral sex. Then he'll be instantly cured."

" House, you are not going. You are going to the clinic. Now !"

"Yeah, right. I think I'll just sit here and ponder pretty boy weapon arsenal. Then I'll go to clinic. . . after my soap opera."

"You think I'm pretty?" Sam said, grinning madly.

Cuddy could see a storm brewing and pushed Sam forward. "Don't tempt him. Let's go."

"No! You're not pretty! You're just . . . above average handsome!" House cried, somehow very lamely.

"Isn't that another way of saying pretty?" Sam whispered, to Cuddy.

"Just don't answer. He has to have the final word and if you don't answer then he won't follow. _Hopefully_ ," Cuddy whispered, back.

House was grumbling loudly to himself as he pondered on how long he should wait before going after them.

"Hey, why are you still here?"

House looked up to see Wilson had returned. "I hear cries of injury from the clinic. They need you, Obi Wan House."

House rolled his eyes. "They need to go home and suck it up."

Wilson shook his head and wagged a finger. "Tsk, tsk. We cannot turn away an ailing person. Even if ailing person is faking, slumming or just here to be obnoxious and annoying."

House stood up and tapped his cane angrily. "Our two young patients are frauds."

Wilson blinked a few times. "Is that a fact or one of your wild delusions?"

"I 'borrowed' some of their various cardholder named credit cards. Very corny and very lame names, might I add. Anyway, I want to know why ."

"Why they're so good looking?"

"No, you insecure idiot. Why are they are pulling credit card scams!"

"Who's insecure? I don't feel threatened by them. So one's got really excellent hair. . ."

House strolled away purposely while Wilson was left to contemplate his middle aged looks.

__

Meanwhile with Dean . . .

Dean flicked through TV channels absently. He stopped suddenly on a channel with two deliciously buxom babes giving each other the tongue.

He smiled as he raised a plastic cup of orange juice to his lips. This whole hospital thing might not be so bad, he mused comfortably.

"Dean!"

Sam's sudden entrance startled Dean from his soon to be apparent climax. He pulled the bed sheet further up his body and put his juice back on the tray.

"Yes, mom," Dean responded, meekly.

Sam gave him a very dark look.

"I see something that's clearly swollen other than your throat."

"Don't worry. Yours will get that big when you're a big boy," Dean said, wisely.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Let's go home as soon as Dr. Cuddy can approve your release," Sam said, sighing heavily.

"Hey, what about that thing you might have? You know what Dr. Fingers Up the Ass talked about?"

Sam shrugged, suddenly distracted. "It's nothing. I already knew about it."

Dean looked over his younger brother sharply. "Keeping secrets from your older and wiser brother?"

Sam snorted. "Uh, what's with the wiser?"

"Don't get smart. What's going on?"

"It's _nothing_. Really, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows raised as Sam seemed to grow more uncomfortable by the minute. "Oh god! Dude, you got an STD! I told you not to sit on those gas station toilets!"

"NO!!" Sam hollered over him.

Dean laughed as Sam's eyes practically exploded out of his skull.

****

To be continued . . .


	7. Chapter 7

**Diagnosis Is Far From Supernatural**

**Part VII**

"Seriously?"

"_Seriously_."

"Seriously?"

"Right. I don't think I can be anymore preteen girly then that," House stated, dryly. Sam stopped the third "seriously" about to drop from his mouth at that.

"Well, that's . . ." Dean reached, a spoonful of green Jell-O hovering near his mouth.

"Anti-climatic?" Wilson offered.

"Lucky?" Chase said.

"What you were hoping it'd be a STD? See, it's just a small… fungal infection," Sam said, giving Dean an Evil Eyed Bitchface.

"What's wrong with his face?" Cameron asked, curiously.

"He suffers from these kind of weird facial ticks. We call'em Bitchfaces," Dean commented, like a specialist interpreting . . . special things.

"Shut up, Dean!"

"Ah," Cameron said, not understanding at all.

"Well, moving on. I looked over the insurance forms signed here, Very INTERESTING," House said, annoyingly loud.

Dean and Sam glanced each other subtly. Not subtle enough of course for House. He winked at them in turn. Sam glowered.

"I have discovered three important things, children. One: I no longer have a hard on."

"Wait. What?" Sam said, scrunching his face.

"It's the Dean Effect," Dean nodded, knowingly.

"House," Foreman said, sighing. "God, we need a new case. .."

"Two: Wilson no longer has a hard on."

Before Wilson could open his mouth to reply, House shushed him with a finger to the lips. "I know, honey. I know."

"Three: You idiots can go home and do whatever secret illegal thing you're doing cause I've got a far more interesting case."

"We do?!" Foreman exclaimed, finally interested.

"We can?!" Sam exclaimed, just as relieved.

"We're still working on that mathematician . . ."Cameron started.

"I passed it on to one of the other useless doctors here. You know the ones who pass in the background looking like they actually do something instead of watching my brilliance. Now, hop to it minions," House ordered, flinging out a file for the new patient.

After the ducklings petered out straight in a line with Wilson trailing, Sam and Dean were left with House.

"Well, doc. . . It's been interesting," Dean stated, sincerely.

"Yes, Dean. We should do another rectal exam again. I think that's the best one I've ever had," House said, mockingly moony eyed.

"It's a date," Dean grinned, taking it all in stride. House's hand twitched on his cane. Thankfully, Dean had carefully made it to the door in an impressive side step gallop behind his brother.

"Thanks for the help, Dr. House," Sam said, grudgingly.

"Is that a 'thanks' or a veiled threat?"

"I don't know. Is my brother gonna be okay?"

"Yes. He will live to annoy you for many, _many _more days to come like big brothers do," House confirmed.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and nodded "Okey dokey, bye now!"

Dean pushed Sam out the door and near sprinted them down the hospital's hallway.

House leaned out the room and frowned as he watched them go. A puzzle was slipping thru his fingers. He fingered his cane thoughtfully. However, a bigger more complex puzzle awaited him down the other end of the hall.

He'd had to figure out those mysterious brothers another day. He was sure destiny would swing them back here.

That or Google search.

House pondered a little longer. _Nahhh. _Google time is better spent on dolphin porn.

*** * * * ***

Dean was huffing and flushed as they reached the hospital entrance. Sam grasped him worried. "Dean, you shouldn't have exerted yourself like that!"

"Sammy, you couldn't see the wheels spinning in Doctor Irritable's head?! We had to escape while he was distracted."

"How do you feel?" Sam asked, not deterred in the least.

"A lot less crappy than I felt earlier. Now, let's go! We can pick up our prescriptions later," Dean urged.

Dean looked back at the waiting room full very of ill and "claiming very loudly how ill they are" people. All of them awaiting medical assistance to provide them relief from their physical aches and pains. He shook his head sadly as his sore throat twitched.

Little did they know what possible horror of the highest medical degree awaited them. They'd wish they had stayed home with several boxes of Kleenex and bad soap opera instead.

The poor bastards.

**The End**

* * *

**Author's note**: Sam's infection…he said "fungal." I bet it was a STD. We know how Sam accumulates those lately, lol.

Well, it's been years. I had intended this fic to be a one shot but it kind ran away from me to more chapters.

I decided to add an ending chapter to this fic no matter how lame I thought of it. I was reading this really awesome long fic by an author and when she stopped posting I realized how much it sucks not to get an ending. It didn't matter how horrible it is, I wanted to get an ending or some closure. Waiting is a more horrible thing in my opinion. So, I decided to provide an ending to my own fic.

All comments and reviews, welcome. If the story made you laugh then I consider my initial intent for the fic accomplished.

Thanks for reading!


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